


It Wasn't Supposed To Be This Way

by crossingwinter, spinsterclaire



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, M/M, Merry Xmas here are the corpses of your beloved golden twinsies, Murderous smut, everyone you love is dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 11:39:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1106377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossingwinter/pseuds/crossingwinter, https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinsterclaire/pseuds/spinsterclaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wondered if Cersei thought about Lyanna like that too—naked and laughing and drunk, or naked and laughing and high, or naked and sober and tender.  Or if she only ever thought of Lyanna naked and bloated and punctured in the Thames.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lyanna

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theelusiveflamingo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theelusiveflamingo/gifts).



“One hit,” Cersei had said. “One hit and that’s all,” and she’d slid the bag of coke across the table, knocking the heroin needles to the floor. They splayed about on the hardwood, haphazardly, their pointy tips glistening in the candlelight like shiny teeth. Lyanna had wanted to pick one up and plunge it forcefully into Cersei’s arm, see if the girl for once – _just once_ – would scream out in pain instead of writhe in ecstasy as it broke flesh. She dared the blood and the hurt to pour forth and prove her humanness. That’s it, “that’s all” – just a reminder that Cersei was still alive in there, breathing.

Instead, though, Lyanna had taken her arm and kissed the constellation of needle pricks that trailed up and down its length. She brushed her lips against the blue-black sky that surrounded them.

London was alive outside, and the only thing Lyanna had needed was an evening without all this shit. She was tired of the late nights and all the excuses that came with them ( _Ran into some trouble on a deal; An unhappy customer; The coppers almost busted my ass tonight, had to drive around and lose their tail_ ). She hated walking into the kitchen every morning and seeing Cersei, standing there, rubbing a fresh cut with peroxide and looking like a stranger. She’d be wearing a wig – green, blue, red, or black – and it’d conceal the blonde that hid beneath it. A shock of gold might creep out and slither down the back of the girl’s neck, but it wasn’t enough to reassure Lyanna that Cersei was still Cersei. _Her_ Cersei.

In truth, Lyanna was fed up with this game, and all its rules and shady players and risks. And yet she could never find it in her to walk away and call it quits. Cersei always kept her coming back for more – and the money, too. The money was great.

“Fine _,_ ”Lyanna had conceded, rolling up a five pound note she’d found in her pocket. Cersei had shaken her head. Not in a reproachful way, but in that typical condescending Lannister way: _You silly little girl…_

“You can do better than that, Ly.” Cersei had handed her a fifty instead, no doubt a (very small) part of the day’s earnings. The paper Queen’s smirk seemed to egg her on, _Just one, just one_. She snorted the white powder up her nose. Cersei had giggled and started kissing her then – her neck and her shoulders, her lips and her eyelashes, until Lyanna had felt the familiar tingle that always accompanied Cersei’s touches. _Is this it?_ Lyanna had thought, _Is this the price I have to pay?_ They had fucked til dawn, high on life and the sounds of each other’s sighs.

One hit and that was all it took. Just one. Hooked in an instant. Lyanna had paid her price and would continue paying it until she couldn't.

* * *

 

Funny how it just takes one – one of those, one of that – to change your destiny and stop your heart in its tracks. Make it cold and still, forever. Lyanna needed one more (it was always _just one more_ ) and she would be satisfied, she assured herself, would be perfectly content with returning to Cersei’s flat as long as she had some goddamn blow. She left that morning with Cersei lying numbly on the couch, staring at the ceiling and using her fingers to trace the cracks that trailed across it like snakes. One divided the room in half, nearly straight down the middle, and Lyanna found it so appropriate, ironic almost, how even the world around her was saying they’d become two different people. Two different people on two opposite and unbreachable sides.

Cersei was “moving on”, she’d said over and over again as they’d laid in bed with cigarettes between their lips, “to bigger and better things”. Then she’d kissed Lyanna tenderly like she always did when she was happy and thinking of a brighter future ( _I love you, Ly._ )But “bigger and better” only meant “Jaime” and “ _home”_ , Lyanna knew, and it made her angry to know that she’d paid her price but was still being left in the dust as she’d always feared. So she’d used her tongue then, flicking it in that way that always left Cersei reeling and whimpering. She made her come – six times to be exact – in an attempt to prove that she should be Lyanna’s and Lyanna’s alone.

 _Jaime doesn’t know you, Cersei_ , she wanted to scream, I _know you_. _Everything I’ve done has been for you._ But she didn’t know her, not really. Lyanna only knew a girl with bruised forearms and wandering eyes. A girl who liked Chinese food when she was high, horror movies when she was sober, and rough sex in all states of mind. The girl Lyanna had lived with for the past year and a half was forever changing with the rising of the sun – and in more ways than just her hair color. (Lyanna came home one evening to find Cersei’s blonde locks strewn across the floor. “I had to do it,” the golden girl had said, never explaining why.) Cersei was fickle like that. Lyanna needed to start taking matters into her own hands because, soon, she would be all alone. She told Cersei she was leaving and wouldn’t be back until later that evening - “Don’t wait up, yeah?” No response.

The arrangement was simple, really: Lyanna was to walk to Pendleton Avenue and look for a woman dressed black. They would approach one another, say the code word – “wildfire” – and carry out their exchange. For Lyanna, the reward was drugs. For the other woman ( _Taena_ , she had purred in a thick accent over the phone) it was simply words. Lyanna had virtually no money left, had been soaring too high to give a shit about her empty wallet and dwindling funds. She could’ve asked Cersei for some help, sure, but she had too much pride for that. And she was taking care of herself now, remember? _Words_ were her currency on this day. Lyanna had nothing else to offer and so she was giving Taena Merryweather all the things that were not hers to give.

Lyanna had never assumed that her life would turn down this path. That she’d lead a hit-to-hit existence, always looking for more, more, _more_ but never finding _enough_. Sometimes she cried about the night in December that had changed everything ( _One hit and that’s all_ ) but what use was that? She’d do it all over again, truth be told, and would never give up the feeling of freedom that came with the insertion of a needle or sniff of a snowy dust. If there was one thing Cersei Lannister had taught her it was to stand by her decisions. ( _Never back down, Ly.)_

Lyanna rounded the corner and spotted a woman standing in the shadows of a tall building. She was dressed in all black, like she’d said, and though she was far away, Lyanna knew her eyes were actually the blackest thing about her. The woman had exceptional posture, stood as straight as a board, and it seemed like even the strongest of winds could not knock her down. As Lyanna crossed the street, she felt her heart accelerate and palms begin to sweat. The papers stuffed inside her bag, all covered in secrets scribbled so eagerly with a Montblanc pen, weighed her down like a ton of bricks.

 _You don’t have to do this, Lyanna. You can turn around and go back,_ she told herself.

But she did. She _did_ have to do this. Lyanna had no choice in the matter, not anymore. The time when “just one” would suffice had come and gone long, long ago. This was her decision and she was standing by it.

When Lyanna came face to face with the woman, she was startled by how beautiful she truly was. Lyanna had always figured the dealers, especially the big-timers – and that’s what Taena was: one of the guys on top – would have faces weathered away by years and years of drug abuse. She imagined scars covering their skin, little tattoos of all the darkness they’d seen and survived throughout their lives. But Taena wasn’t like that at all. She was gorgeous with her long black hair, chocolate colored skin, and plump lips. She was dressed in a woman’s suit (“Dress like the person your mother wanted you to be; not the low-lying piece of shit that you are,” she had advised with an eerie sweetness), and looked like she belonged with the men down in the Finance  District, shouting in people’s faces while throwing elbows into their guts. _Jab, jab, jab,_ knocking the breath out of their lungs. Taena reminded Lyanna of Cersei in that way. Cersei was always making it difficult for Lyanna to breathe properly.

“Wildfire,” Lyanna said in a shaky voice. The code word.

She wasn’t used to doing this – Cersei was always the one who went out in the field and played the game with the others. Lyanna merely stayed home, awaiting a back-up call (though praying one would never come) and dealing with their finances.

“Wildfire,” Taena promptly replied.

The woman wasted no time, and ushered Lyanna into a town car parked alongside the curb.

“Did you bring what I asked you for?” The woman asked, her lips almost curling back like a feral cat’s.

“Did you bring what _I_ asked you for?” Lyanna tried to mimic the woman’s straight-backed position, but it merely looked silly and contrived on her. She relaxed her shoulders and took a deep breath.

“We’ll get to that, girl. Now give me –”

“It’s all in my purse,” Lyanna blurted quickly, reaching her hand inside to pull out the papers covered in inky secrets. Taena stuck her palm out abruptly.

“Just give me the bag.”

“But—” Lyanna stammered. She brought her purse closer to her chest, but at the waggle of Taena’s fingers, she surrendered and handed the woman her purse. Taena slung it over her shoulder as though it’d been hers all along. Its contents jingled inside - the faint clinking of loose change – and it reminded Lyanna of Cersei’s charm bracelet, tinkling as she’d run her hands through Lyanna’s hair the evening before.

“Alright, I’ve given you the information. Now where’s the blow?” Lyanna implored, feigning a confidence that sounded hollow even to her own ears. The falseness of it hung in the air between them, like an awkward joke that no one even bothered to laugh at.

“Calm yourself, sweetling. It isn’t here. Igor, darling, drive us, please.” A burly Russian man turned the keys in the ignition, and the car lurched forward. They barreled through the streets of London, winding this way and that, until they were leaving the city and its tall buildings were behind them, fading in the distance. Soon they were driving by endless pastures of grassy fields.

“Where are you taking me?” Lyanna asked. She knew it was stupid to have done this, to have remained inside the car and not put up a fight. But she needed the coke – _God_ , she needed the coke, and if it took a small detour to get it, such was life.

“ _Hush._ We’ll be there soon. And then I’ll give you what you came for,” Taena said. She was looking out the window now, watching the blurry landscape speed on by in indistinguishable patches of green and yellow. “Beautiful out here, isn’t it? Not as dirty as the city…”

Lyanna nodded, acquiescent, and sat back, deciding she might as well enjoy the ride. She reveled in the feeling of the smooth leather beneath her fingers, like the old Jaguar she’d once had (but inevitably sold for drug money a few weeks prior).

“I always wanted to leave London and move out to the country but…I’m not sure it would suit me,” Taena continued wistfully, “It’s perfect for our operation, though. Out here, nobody suspects a thing. Coppers too busy dealing with you lot in the city. Messy, messy, messy. You come here, though, and there’s no way you’ll be found.” She paused and turned to examine Lyanna.

“You’re a curious one, Stark, what with you being so _generous_ to me, of all people. So very different from your brother. You’ve not got a shred of honor in you, mmm? No, not like him.”

Lyanna remained silent and looked to her feet. She shifted uncomfortably and felt her stomach tie in knots. Suddenly it felt as though the seatbelt was pressing hard against her and constricting her lungs.

“But _ah_ , it’s the Lannister bitch, isn’t it? Cersei’s taken away whatever integrity you once had.” Taena spat in disgust,

“Lannisters. Cunts, the lot of ‘em. Which is why I appreciate you giving me _this_ , Lyanna,” she patted Lyanna’s bag gently, “People like them, …They don’t deserve the lives they have. You’ve done a good thing, girl. The right thing. A woman of honor you are not, but justice – sweet _justice_ is what you have brought me today.”

The town car pulled up to a wooden shed surrounded by tall grasses. It’d been nearly thirty minutes since they’d driven out of the city, and Lyanna could smell the country in the air. Igor stopped the car, and Taena motioned Lyanna to get out.

“Open the door, girl.”

The woman led Lyanna into the tiny shack which, as it turns out, was entirely empty but for an old, moth-eaten rug at its center. Beneath it, laid a hole that led down, down, down into the bowels of the earth – but to where, Lyanna did not know.

    Wary and on Taena’s heels, Lyanna descended a flight of stairs as fluorescent lights buzzed and flickered overhead. The room below was nearly as empty as the one above it, having only a few chairs, a 1980’s circa television, and a clunky metal desk. There were others doors along the walls, too, but they remained closed– _NO TRESPASSING_. Lyanna suspected they led deeper still, where it was even colder than the crisp spring air outside. She shivered and wished she’d worn a warmer jacket.

Taena took a key from the wall and unlocked one of the desk drawers with an impressive amount of precision. It was a performance, almost, one that she’d rehearsed hundreds and hundreds of times before. She reached her hand in and emerged with a plump bag of cocaine. _Yes,_ Lyanna thought, _Thank fuck._ Words for blow; what a fair trade. The smidge of guilt she’d felt before about betraying the Lannisters vanished. _Too hell with Cersei. She’s “moving on”. And so am I._ The thought of Jaime made her furious again, and so she barked at Taena from across the room,

“Hand it over, Merryweather.”

“Catch, _Stark_ ,” Taena said, throwing the bag to Lyanna’s outstretched hands. She caught it and turned around, making her way for the staircase so she could get out of here and back to the city. The country gave her hives.

“Not so fast, girl. There’s still a bit of business to be done.”

“Business? What business? I gave you the information, you gave me the shit. Done deal.”

Lyanna heard a door creak open behind her. It was an ominous sound, the kind so prevalent in Cersei’s favorite horror films, and it made her skin crawl.

“Wildfire,” a man said, but Lyanna did not turn to look at him. She sensed something was wrong – something was very, very wrong.

“Wildfire,” she responded accordingly, both confused and afraid. _What do they want, what do they want?_ That part of the business was over, she’d thought, say the code word once and that was it. _Finito_. The man’s voice sounded oddly familiar, though, and for some reason Lyanna found herself imaging a whirl of violet and silver.

“Fire,” Taena said dryly. There was the click of a – _what was it, exactly? That click?_

Suddenly a _boom_ resounded throughout the underground chamber, and the purples and silvers were replaced by a seeping red that blurred Lyanna’s vision. She fell to her knees and heard them smack against the concrete, thebones breaking at the contact. She tried to scream, but no sound came out, and she let her body fall limply to the floor. _Just one more,_ she found herself thinking. But if it was for another hit or another glimpse of Cersei, she wasn’t sure.

Taena stood above her and repeated the word a second time, “ _Fire._ ”

A man – a man with violet eyes and hair like the moon – walked to Taena’s side. He looked down upon Lyanna with a malicious kind of pity, and through all the red, Lyanna realized she did know him after all.

“ _And blood_ ,” he finished.

One shot, and that was all it took. Just one. Dead in an instant. Lyanna had paid her price, and her last gasps of breath – _Rhaegar, Rhaegar –_ were soon taken from her, too.


	2. Jaime

Cersei had a taste for this sort of operation.  He supposed it had to do with her kink for doing things right under everyone’s noses—a handjob at the Hotspurs match, shagging in their father’s bathroom during a dinner party.  Cersei liked to live life on the edge and there was nothing that said living life on the edge quite like fucking your brother and then taking him to the sort of fundraiser only their father could throw, while she scored a massive coke deal.

Cersei had a way with life.  And Jaime followed her through it, wondering if anything would ever be too much.

He had thought—had hoped, rather—that when Lyanna had shown up in the river, riddled with bullet holes, that Cersei might have learned that maybe she ran a little too hot, a little too close to the live wire.  And then she’d rung him up, completely out of the blue with the promise that they’d be in and out real quick, steal several bottles of champagne and make a night of it.  “I’ll even wear the black—and only the black—” she had wheedled, and who was Jaime to say no?  He’d never been one to say no when Cersei asked.  That was for Father, not for him.  Father had said no to so much—study abroad, art school, a new nose; Jaime had said yes to more.

“Ready?” she asked him, shrugging into her coat.  He saw the outline of her nipples through the sequins and fabric.  It wouldn’t be noticeable to the rest of the world, but Jaime knew those nipples like he knew his own hands—better, probably, since he didn’t spend too much time looking at his hands.

He slipped his arms around her, head resting on her shoulder.  “Sure you don’t want to just stay here?” he murmured in what he hoped was enough to seduce her.

She swatted him away.  “Later.  I promise.” She took one of the hands resting at her waist and led him out the door.

The car ride was stiff.  Car rides when they weren’t fucking were always stiff though. Cersei would stare out the window, her eyes lost in the traffic that passed them by, the crease between her brow marring the perfection of her face.  That crease hadn’t been there before Lyanna, and had only gotten more pronounced the more the girl had snorted.  Jaime didn’t like to think about either of them that way, though—not his surly sister, not her wild lover.  He liked to think of them both, drunk out of their minds in the back of this very car, taking their turn sucking his cock, not giving a damn that it was midday on a Sunday night when all the happy little families were coming home from Church.  He liked to think of green eyes dancing with wicked amusement, of Lyanna’s laughter, and the exhilaration that came from knowing that he and his sister fucked the same woman.

He wondered if Cersei thought about Lyanna like that too—naked and laughing and drunk, or naked and laughing and high, or naked and sober and tender.  Or if she only ever thought of Lyanna naked and bloated and punctured in the Thames.

Cersei hadn’t shown anyone that she cried over Lyanna.  There had been no tears on her face at the funeral, when she’d offered her condolences to Lyanna’s three brothers and her ersatz fiancé.  She had been perfectly poised, perfectly coifed, perfectly dressed and perfectly tragic, for she couldn’t tell Ned Stark that she’d fucked his sister the morning that she’d died.  No, she hadn’t let tears fall, but Jaime had come home to a red-eyed sister who needed to have her pain fucked away more than once in the months following Lyanna’s death.

He wished he could fuck her pain into happiness, into oblivion, instead of fucking it into a predatory retreat.  He wished he could take her hand now, as he had only a few months before, and not worry about her pulling it away from him, or her startling.  He missed the curl of her fingers, the taste of elation on her tongue.

He pulled out a cigarette, hand brushing past his holster when he reached for the box in his breast pocket, and lit it, inhaling nicotine and ash.  He opened the window and exhaled, watching a stream of grey disappear into the London rain.

“So, what’s this bird’s name?” he asked, trying to sound as light as possible, and knowing that Cersei would see right through it.

“Taena.”  Terse, clipped, and so unlike his ebullient sister—at least unlike how she used to speak to him.

“And she’s with—“

“Targs,” snapped Cersei.  “She works for Rhaegar Targaryen.  That do?”

Jaime took another drag, then blew it out the window.

“Who do you think she’s got on her end?” he asked.

“How should I know?  Could be anyone, couldn’t it?”

“You really didn’t think this through.  If it goes south.”

Cersei shot him a quizzical look.  “Do you honestly think that the security guards at this place won’t respond to the shrill screaming of a damsel in distress?”

“I’m simply saying—I’m one man.  I’m good, Cers.  But I’m not a match if she’s brought more than…three.”

“Cocky much?” she was trying so hard to erase the worry from his mind.  It would be sweet if that crease weren’t there, right in the middle of her face.

“Oh, as if you didn’t know,” he tried to tease, eyes dropping to his crotch.  Cersei reached out a hand and ran her fingers up the legs of his trousers.  She stopped just short of where he wanted.

She didn’t say a word, though, and the car slowed and pulled to the curb.

“Come on, then.”

Everyone seemed to be wearing black.  Every last one.  Men in tuxes—Jaime felt underdressed in his sweater—and women in floor-length black gowns; it looked like a funeral.  The jazz was loud, the alcohol flowed into crystal glasses and tumblers and decanters.

“That’s her—” Cersei murmured, nodding to a woman who was standing and smoking by the window—the only woman in white in the whole place.

“Should I come with you?” he asked.

“No.  Go have a drink.  I won’t be long and then we’ll head home.”

Jaime watched her cross the room, confidence in her swinging hips,  

“Lagavulin,” Jaime told the bartende,r and then he turned his back to the bar, eyes locked on Cersei.

“When they said this place would be full of pricks, I didn’t expect yours to be one of them.”  Jaime knew that voice.

“Nor I yours,” he replied, not even turning to look at him.

“I’ll have what he’s having,” said Dayne to the bartender.  Out of the corner of his eye, Jaime saw him turn his back to the bar and lean against it casually.

“She’s a lovely woman.  You still fuck her, I presume?”

“Yes.”  Jaime had never lied to Arthur Dayne, and he didn’t intend to start now.  Besides, what was the worst that Dayne could do?  Jaime had pictures of him sucking his cock on his phone.  If that didn’t discredit any story Dayne might tell, he didn’t know what would.  Jaime couldn’t fuck his sister if he was gay.  And he’d take that hit for her.  He would in a heartbeat.

“More’s the pity.  I was wondering if you wanted a second round.”  He knew Arthur’s eyes were on him, but he didn’t even look.  In truth, he’d consider it—but not now, not while Cersei was so edgy.

“Perhaps another time.”

“You are loyal to your poison, I take it,” Arthur sighed.

“As are you to yours.  Or have you and Selmy reached an understanding?”

Dayne snorted.  “We reached an understanding of sorts, you could say.”

He did not elaborate, though.   

“You’re here with her.” Jaime said at last, eyes now on the woman in white, who was laughing at something his sister had said.

“How could you tell?” Dayne asked dryly.   

“I’m a man of many talents.”  Jaime reached for the glass that the bartender had left by his elbow and took a sip.  It went down smooth and dry, and his nostrils flared with the smoky after taste.   

“You don’t like your sister getting her tits hot for someone new, do you?”  Dayne’s voice was mocking now.   

Cersei was smiling, that smile that he knew so well, that Lyanna had known, that others had known too, but never a stranger, never someone who worked for the Targaryens.  But he wasn’t going to let that on, not easily, not at all if he could help it.  And certainly not to Dayne.

“Oh, I don’t know.  She could do with some spice.”  

“Well, if she needs another cock, you know my number.  And, of course, you’d be welcome to join.  I hear that you two like to share.”

“It’s been known to happen.” _Lyanna sitting on Cersei’s face while he fucked her_.   

They stood in silence, drinking and watching.  He didn’t expect Dayne’s concentration to falter, for all his talk.  He knew Dayne almost as well as he knew Cersei.  Dayne had trained him, taught him every trick there was to know.  He wasn’t going to lose his point, not for all the scotch in this place.  And Jaime wasn’t either.   

So they stood there, quiet, watching.

Watching as Taena touched Cersei’s arm, as Cersei leaned forward in a way that Jaime knew would show Taena a little more of her cleavage than most were lucky enough to see, as Taena leaned in to whisper something and Cersei…Cersei recoiled, devastation crossing her face.

Taena leaned back, and Cersei snapped shut her handbag, but when she stood to leave, Taena grabbed her wrist. Jaime’s unfinished glass was on the bar behind him, already halfway across the room.

“Is there a problem?” he asked, eyes locked on Taena.  He felt Dayne behind him—only Dayne would stand that close.

“N-no.” Cersei’s voice was small.  “Nothing.  We should go.”

“You know how to find me,” Taena smirked.   

A confused shadow crossed Cersei’s face, and then it was gone.  She led Jaime back across the floor, skirting around happy party-goers, and Jaime kept his left hand in hers, his right fumbling for the cigarette box by his holster.

Jaime made for the car, his hand still reached across his chest, but when he opened the door for Cersei she didn’t get in the car.  When he looked around, she was nowhere to be found.  His pocket began to buzz and his hand flew to his phone.

_Cersei Lannister: Don’t worry about me.  I’m fine.  I’ll see you soon.  I need to get some answers from Taena._

No.  No, no, _no_.  Jaime knew a bad idea when he saw one, and he knew that there was no way this one could turn out well.  Especially not - _shit_ , Dayne wasn’t still with her, was he?

Jaime began to type furiously, trying to fix a mess before it was made.

_Are you still game?_

The response was instantaneous.

_Arthur Dayne: Is that even a question?_


	3. Cersei

She had not planned to follow the woman home, had _definitely_ not planned the night to turn out like this. Cersei Lannister was supposed to be in a townhome miles and miles away from here, fucking the image of a certain doe-eyed Stark girl out of her mind, once and for all. She’d even worn the black – _and only the black_ – so that Jaime’s hands would be all over her, leaving his marks upon her skin and making her his. He’d wanted the black and she’d wanted the purple. Let the bruises paint her into numbness – _anything_ to rid herself of Lyanna’s phantom fingers trailing across her lips.

Cersei was now in Taena Merryweather’s flat, a scotch in one hand and a gun in the other. She poured the liquor languorously into her mouth while she kept the firearm pointed at the dark lady’s forehead. Cersei felt powerful like this, like her father, and she made a note to pair booze and weapon more often.

“Tell me.” she demanded.

“Tell you what?”

“What _happened_ , Taena. What you know.” The amber liquid rushed down Cersei’s throat. It burned her up as it made its way through her body, but the heat of it licking her insides paled in comparison to the flames she felt when she said Taena’s name. It was strange on her tongue – foreign and hot – and yet it flowed so easily out of her mouth. Like a piece of silk slipping through her fingers. Or a bullet launching out of a pistol.

Cersei cocked the gun once, her hands shaking ever so slightly as Taena took a step towards her. The woman’s midnight skin glowed in the dim light of the room.

“I have a proposition first,” Taena said. Her voluptuous lips pulled into a smile, and she reached out for Cersei’s empty glass. She gently removed it from her grasp and filled it up again, taking a chug herself before handing it back to Cersei,

“Put the gun down, Cersei. There’s no need for it. We were getting along so _well_ before, weren’t we?” Taena’s laugh was a low rumble, like a thunderstorm miles and miles away. Count the seconds between thunder and lightning, though, and there’d merely be one. Taena was here in the flesh, standing right in front of her, and though Cersei knew to run for shelter, she remained in the eye of the storm.

Taena had laughed the same way at the gala – so genuine, so warm – and it had thawed the chill that had settled on Cersei’s bones since Ly’s death. It had been strange to stand before someone like that, without her icy armor there to protect her. Cersei had felt naked, as though her black dress had melted to a puddle at her feet and Taena could see all of her, every inch of skin.

    Taena was dressed in white, and her gown fit her like a glove. Cersei had been stuck by her curves – that perfect hourglass shape – and had recalled her late lover’s ruler-straight figure. _What’s it like to touch a woman like that?_ she’d thought to herself.

“What do you want?” Cersei asked now, lowering the gun just a little bit. _Never back down, Cersei. Don’t let the bitch play you._ But she was curious, even she had to admit.

“You.”

_“Me?”_

“Join me, Lannister,” Taena’s voice was calm. She sat down on the leather sofa and crossed her legs, “You’re tired. I can see it in your face. Even fucking your brother isn’t doing much for you these days, is it?”

The image of Jaime thrusting above her flitted through Cersei’s mind. He knew her inside in out, just how to drive her wild and make her scream. Lyanna had thought she’d acquired the same knowledge, but Cersei’s moans in their bed had been different somehow, coming less from her soul and more from her cunt. Cersei had meant it as a means of self-preservation, a way to protect herself from whatever the fuck she was feeling for this girl. She would not let her guard down, would _never_ let her guard down, and so she’d allowed the Stark girl to believe she’d actually tamed a lion. Cersei had thought she’d enjoyed the sweetness of this secret distance between them - _You don’t own me, Lyanna Stark_ \- but it always kept its sour aftertaste that made her tongue curl. As if the lie had the flavor of a rancid slab of meat.

It made her sick now, to think of it. Guilty, even. _I should’ve given myself to you, Ly. While I’d still had the chance._ But she hadn’t – and she certainly _couldn’t_ now - and so it was just another layer of guilt that weighed her down.

Cersei pushed the thoughts away, and tried to focus on something else. Suddenly, she found herself wondering if Taena had ever been with a woman before.

“Face it, Lannister,” Taena continued, “You’re fed up. You’re the one who’s worked her ass off to get your family to where it is today. Jaime doesn’t give a damn about anything except your cunt, Tyrion has been missing for months, your daddy has never taken you seriously...And the Stark girl is dead. And you’re the angriest at _her_ , aren’t you? Angry that she fucked things up for you and then left you behind?

“No. I’m not.” Cersei swallowed and took another sip of her drink. The heat rushed through her again.

“Don’t lie to me, Cersei,” Taena chuckled, “I gave you the whiskey so you wouldn’t lie to me. The cops have been onto you lot for years. You can’t keep running things on your own. They’ll bust you soon enough and you know that.”

“Believe it or not, _Merryweather,_ I have other people working for us. I’ve got an army of people behind me, and they’d all slit your throat if they heard what you were saying right now.”

“‘You have other people,’” Taena mocked. She was laughing harder now, and she placed her hand on her chest to steady her breathing, “Oh god, you don’t know _shit_. How do you think your precious Lyanna paid for the blow? With sex? Love? _Ha!_ Rhaegar is a disillusioned little boy who will leave a girl flat on her ass just like _that_ ,” she snapped her fingers, “As I’m sure you already know.” Taena smirked. Her eyes flitted up and down Cersei’s body before she stood up again, “And Lyanna definitely wasn’t _my_ type.”

“Money, Taena. We have plenty of money.”

“Ah, yes. That much is true. What do they say, again? ‘Lannisters shit gold?’”

Cersei narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms, “Only my father.”

Taena smirked and cocked her head to the side. “But you forget that the girl was a Stark, not a Lannister. And all those Starks have too much goddamn _pride_ for their own good. She didn’t pay with your money, Cersei. She paid with your secrets. Gave me everything.”

“ _What_?” Cersei’s heart was beating fast and she rushed at Taena so that their noses were mere inches apart. The woman’s breath smelled of mint and liquor, and it made Cersei’s breath hitch.

“You have no one, Lannister,” Taena said, “ _No one_.”

Cersei dropped her drink and slapped Taena across the face. _Lies, all of it._ But the woman only smiled and straightened herself back up. She remained unfazed by the stinging of her cheek.

“Now that’s what I like to see. _That’s_ why you need to join me, Cersei. I know how powerful you are. I know what you’re capable of, what you can do. Come with me and fuck the rest, and you’ll finally know what it means to be treated as an equal. You deserve more.”

“I’d sooner suck your fruitcake, Arthur Dayne, before I joined forces with you and the Targs.”

Cersei’s hands balled up into fists. Her heart beat faster but she wasn’t sure if it was because of her anger or her proximity to Taena’s mouth.

“And you _aren’t_ my equal, Merryweather,” Cersei spat. She grabbed Taena by the throat.

“Is that so?” Taena managed to choke out. Her eyes grew wide in mock horror, and it was then that Cersei noticed they were yellow and not the black she had originally presumed they were. They reminded her of her brother in all his golden beauty, but even Jaime had never looked at her like this before.

“I’m more ruthless,” Cersei said, “Stronger. Cleverer,” She squeezed harder and dug her nails into Taena’s flesh until she knew she’d drawn blood, “I’m the woman you wish you could be; the woman every dick is afraid of.”

She spoke in her father’s voice, and she could see him shaking his head, though he was hundreds of miles away in Berlin. ( _You’re not as clever as you think you are._ ) But to hell with him. To hell with Tywin fucking Lannister. Taena was right about that, at least. He had never taken her seriously.

“Show me, then,” Taena commanded, “ _Prove it._ ” The woman’s breathing was strained and haggard now. She took her hand and slowly pried Cersei’s fingers off, one by one, “Show me how much of a man you truly are.”

They stood in silence for a moment, unsure of what to do next. It took only the slight movement of Taena’s hand to set them tearing ferociously at each other’s clothes.

Cersei pulled Taena in by her hair. She tilted the woman’s head back so that her neck was exposed and Cersei could lick up the blood she’d left there just moments before. Taena’s left hand worked deftly at unzipping the back of Cersei’s dress until it slid down her body in one fluid motion. Her hand went to Cersei’s golden crotch then, her fingers moving expertly as she slipped Cersei’s underwear down her legs.

“Show me, Lannister. _Show me_ ,” she groaned.

Abruptly, Cersei pushed Taena down to her knees as though she was prostrated at her feet, a mortal before their beloved god. Taena’s gaze was fixated on the carpet beneath her and so Cersei yanked her by the hair again, trying to look her straight in the face. Taena’s golden eyes showed no fear, only hunger. She winced a little, though, when Cersei tugged harder and forced her neck to twist awkwardly.

“Taste me,” Cersei demanded, “And don’t stop until I tell you to.”

Taena did as she was told. She began kissing the insides of Cersei’s alabaster thighs while her hands grabbed Cersei ass, pulled back, and slapped her playfully. Cersei moaned in response, and so she repeated the gesture, running her hand over where palm had met flesh and striking the same spot, though harder this time. She then teased at Cersei entrance, feeling her grow wetter and wetter before sinking a finger inside her. She worked it gently in and out of Cersei’s cunt and then soon inserted a second. A third followed quickly after and reduced Cersei to a lustful mess above her.

  “Mmm, ready so soon, Lannister?” the dark woman purred, continuing to move her fingers in a slow, sensuous rhythm. Cersei felt weak in her hands, and she hated it.

“Fuck you,” Cersei breathed, but her voice came out as just a hint of a whisper when she’d intended it to be a harsh rebuke. Taena pulled away and looked up at her, smiling at Cersei’s half-hearted reproach, and licked each of her fingers, one by one. Cersei could see herself on them - their shiny wetness – and it made her shudder. Taena seductively sucked on her index finger before returning to finish what she’d started.

Her pillowy lips were soon on Cersei’s clit once more, her tongue working expertly and making the green-eyed goddess come undone. _She’s definitely been with a woman…_ Cersei thought, feeling her pleasure build with each second.

Cersei bucked her hips slightly, wanting more, _needing_ more as Taena continued kissing and suckling her sex. Cersei reached down and snapped one of the woman’s bra straps so that she cried out in pain, then slid them both off her chocolate shoulders. Taena’s breasts were much larger than hers, and they spilled out over the edges of her cups, filled Cersei’s hands completely. The tips of Cersei’s fingers traced along the tops them, and she could feel Taena sigh into her at the touch. The contrast between their skin made it look as though night and day were tangled in primal dance.

“Stop,” Cersei groaned softly. She didn’t want to come – not like this, not with Taena – because, to her, coming was surrender. _She has no power over me,_ Cersei reminded herself, and yet she could not summon the strength to push the woman away.

“ _Please_ ,” she said again, begging now. She was unsure if her plea was meant to stop Taena from going further or to encourage the woman to keep going.

“Am I too much for you?” Taena said, laughing, and Cersei came in a voiceless groan just seconds later. When she finished, her chest was heaving, her body still reeling from the sensation of Taena’s mouth against her clit. She spoke through winded gasps,

“You…bitch,” she said, shoving Taena back onto the sofa, “I told you to _stop_.”

Cersei straddled her and quickly removed Taena’s bra, unclasping her own with speedy fingers. She crushed her lips against Taena’s and allowed their tongues to intertwine, hot and wet. Cersei placed her hands on Taena’s breasts again, breaking apart from their kiss and pressing her lips lightly to her collarbones. She took one of Taena’s dark nipples in her mouth while she palmed the other breast in her hand. Taena groaned.

Cersei moved more slowly than Taena had, prolonging her pleasure every time she drew her finger out from Taena’s cunt. Taena’s hips began moving beneath her, and Cersei tightened her legs to hold her still,

“Am I too much for you, Merryweather?” Cersei imitated. She grinded on top of her then, kissing her passionately once more. Taena put her hands in Cersei’s hair and pulled off the brunette wig, revealing the mid-length golden locks that were hidden beneath. It had grown in the months since Lyanna’s murder.

“Do you want to play?” Taena whispered in the moment where their lips separated and came together again.

“Is that not what we’re doing,” Cersei asked while kissing her fervently. But she knew what the dark beauty meant, and she smiled.

“Take your pick. I have everything.”

“Of course you do,” Cersei said, “Skag.”

“I’ll have to prepare it,” Taena replied, pushing Cersei off her lap gently, “Touch yourself while I’m gone, Lannister.”

Cersei hadn’t taken heroin since the day of Lyanna’s death. It had been an excruciating five months full of sleepless nights where she’d laid shaking on the bathroom floor. Jaime would come over to hold her in his arms and prevent her from doing something they both knew she’d regret. She’d allowed herself to cry in front of him then, cursing under her breath all the while. _Fucking junk, J. Why did I ever get started with this shit?_ She had wailed in self-hatred until morning.

But Cersei didn’t care about any of that now. She only wanted to shoot up – just once, though, _just once._

When Taena returned it was with two filled syringes in hand, one for herself and one for Cersei. Cersei took them both from her and laid Taena on the couch, sitting on top of her to hold her down. She bent over and bit Taena’s lip, sucking hard before raising one of the needles to the woman’s neck.

“I could do it, you know,” Cersei growled, “Stab you right now and end this thing.”

“You wouldn’t,” Taena said matter-of-factly, completely unafraid.

“Wouldn’t I?”

“You wouldn’t waste such quality skag.” Taena pulled Cersei’s arm down and injected the needle into her own with one quick thrust. She sighed as the heroin entered her veins and coursed throughout her body, “Your turn,” she breathed.

Cersei immediately followed suit, her eyes rolling to the back of her head before she collapsed in an ecstatic heap atop Taena’s breasts. Their labored breathing slowed simultaneously as Cersei listened to the woman’s heart beat within her chest. _Ba-bum, ba-bum, ba…bum, ba…bum. Ba. Bum._

They kissed one last time before the skag took them somewhere far away, left them staring happily (but blankly) around the room. They both fell asleep like that, wrapped in each other’s arms and safe within their hazy drug-induced cloud.

When Cersei woke, it was no longer dark outside – the sun was rising through the trees now.

She was strapped to a chair and a knife was at her throat.


	4. Arthur

Arthur had never been the brains.  He was the brawn, the muscle, the man with the “is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”  The answer was both.  Always both.  And Rhaegar knew it.  And Rhaegar used it.  That’s why he was with Taena that night.

Arthur spent most of the cab ride back to his place with his finger circling the tip of Jaime’s cock.  Jaime’s eyes were closed, his brow furrowed, and, if they hadn’t already fucked a few times, Arthur might have mistaken it for focused pleasure.  But it wasn’t.  The last time that Arthur and Jaime had shagged, Jaime’s face was smooth, calm, relaxed, and the veins in his neck had throbbed with every little nudge that Arthur made.

Well, what did it matter really?

Jaime Lannister would be dead before the end of the night, anyway.  If he wasn’t going to enjoy his final fuck, what did Arthur care?  He should be grateful.  But then again, Jaime Lannister was the must ungrateful cunt to walk the planet.  Rhaegar had given him everything – _everything_ –and Jaime had just abandoned him for his bitch of a sister without a second thought?  Fucker.  As if Arthur hadn’t had to make a choice like that.

“You aren’t enjoying yourself there, Lannister,” Arthur hissed.  “It’s almost like you don’t want my hand on your cock.  Or are you trying to pretend it’s your sister’s?”

The cab slowed for a heartbeat.  Jaime felt it too, and a smile crossed his lips and he opened those green eyes to watch the cabbie, resolutely focusing on the road.

A crooked grin crossed Jaime’s face. “Trying to remember what your dick tastes like, really.  It has been a while.”

 _If you don’t think I know exactly what you’re playing at, you’re even more of a naive idiot than I thought_.  But he hitched an amused smirk onto his face.  “Well, if you’re lucky, I might let you remind yourself.”

Jaime arched an eyebrow.  “As if it’s not the first thing I’m going to do when we get out of this cab.”

“Needy little bitch, aren’t you?” Arthur unzipped the rest of Jaime’s trousers, pulled him loose, and began pumping his fist up and down, up and down, remembering the softness of this particular shaft, the way that it fit so perfectly into his hand, like a sword’s hilt, or a candlestick.  

Jaime let out a moan.  

There was a time, it seemed like so long ago, when that moan would have made Arthur overjoyed.  There was something so perfectly fuckable about Jaime Lannister, almost the same sort of perfectly fuckable as Rhaegar.  But where Rhaegar didn’t even begin to come off as the type who might take a man to bed, Jaime did.  Jaime was attainable in a way that Rhaegar wasn’t, and every little moan, every little lip bite, every little drop of pre-cum was a reminder of that.  

Now of course…

The cab was going even faster now, as though the cabbie wanted nothing more than to be rid of them.  Well, that was fine by Arthur.  He didn’t need to elongate this ride home.  One quick little fuck for Jaime Lannister, and then a bullet to the brain.  Rhaegar was really quite the genius when it came to things like this.  He truly understood peoples’ weaknesses.

They pulled up outside of Arthur’s flat. Arthur paid one-handed, still rubbing Jaime off, then pushed open the door of the cab without removing his hand from Jaime.  He led Jaime up the steps to the building, rubbing lazily as he unlocked the front door slowly and pushed their way into the vestibule.

There was one thing to be said for Jaime Lannister: he didn’t mind fucking in public.

In the lift, Jaime pushed him against the wall and his tongue went straight into Arthur’s mouth.  Arthur wondered if he kissed like his sister.  He supposed the only person who’d ever be able to tell was long dead at this point, stupid bint.  You don’t get revenge against Rhaegar Targaryen.  You can’t.  He takes you out, methodically.  

The lift dinged and Arthur pulled himself away from the wall and led Jaime inside.

“You can leave your clothes here,” Arthur said idly, beginning to divest himself of his own clothing.  He smirked watching as Jaime kicked off his shoes and let the trousers fall to the floor, then began unbuttoning his shirt, just enough to tug it over his head.  It was strange to watch his cock, stiff and proud, bobbing slightly with the motion.  How lovely it was, curved up and tilting slightly to the right.  It almost made him feel bad.  A smile crossed his lips.  How much must he hate Jaime Lannister that the sight of his stiffy made him feel worse about murdering him than speaking with him at that party?  The thought that that poor cock would never be hard again troubled him far more than that he was going to murder someone who had once been a friend.

“Like what you see?” Jaime teased.   _The poor fool._

“Obviously.”

Jaime kissed him again, his hands coming to rest on Arthur’s arse, massaging his muscles, fingers inching towards the hole.  Arthur let the warmth of those fingers fill him, felt his cock harden even more.  Jaime’s fingers had always been very good - just the right amount of teasing and no nonsense.

“Woah, woah, woah - easy there,” Arthur grinned into Jaime’s mouth.  He reached for Jaime’s hands and backed away slowly, feeling his own cock run against Jaime’s as he did so.  He pulled Jaime towards his bedroom.  They needed to be in the bedroom.

Arthur had fucked Jaime exactly six times since they’d first met five years ago.  Three of those times, he had been high as balls.  Four of those times, Jaime had been too drunk to even get it up, and Arthur had topped him gleefully, knowing that Jaime wanted it, but couldn’t even get there.  He and Jaime never fucked on his bed, though.  Arthur tended not to fuck on the bed.  He liked the experience of kneeling while he gave a blow job, or leaning against a wall while a cock pounded in his asshole.  He liked being on all fours, sinking his sac into a waiting mouth, he liked the feeling of a rug beneath his hands.  He liked not having to worry about falling off the bed, or ripping off all his bedding, or the sobering creaks of his bedsprings.

No, he much preferred the floor. So when he shoved Jaime’s back to the wall and sunk down to pull that cock into his mouth, Jaime didn’t think twice about it.  He closed his eyes and moaned again.

Arthur licked and sucked, a hand cupping Jaime’s sac, holding Jaime’s hips in place.  He took Jaime all the way down into his throat and hummed slightly, feeling Jaime’s cock twitch at the vibrations, then he pulled away infinitesimally, finding that point that he had discovered the third time he’d fucked Jaime, that bundle of nerves just over a vein that caused him to stiffen just a little more.  

He sucked, and sucked, and sucked, and with every passing moment, he thought how close to done this poor man was.  How he wished he didn’t have to kill him in his own bedroom – it would be such a mess to clean up.  But Rhaegar would help with that.  Everything would be as good as new soon enough.  

And suddenly, it was as though he was sucking off Rhaegar, as though the Jaime’s thick cock was longer and narrower and paler, the very image of Rhaegar that had been burned into his brain when Arthur had walked in on him fucking Elia.  Elia’s brown skin had been slicked with sweat, her breasts purpled with hickies, eyes languidly stoned, and Rhaegar had pulled out for a moment - just long enough to hear Arthur report that Arryn was dead - before he’d nodded and gone back to fucking his wife.

If only Rhaegar would fuck around with him, the way he fucked around with everyone else.  He wouldn’t get jealous like all the silly bitches.  He wouldn’t be upset.  He’d just suck and fondle and fuck as long as Rhaegar wanted him.

Jaime came in his mouth, spurting thickly once, twice, three times before the spurts became smaller, lighter, and Jaime pulled away, smiling that lazy smile.  He let his weight sag against the wall, then put a finger under Arthur’s chin and nudged lightly.

Arthur got to his feet and leaned into Jaime’s kiss.

“I always forget how good you are at sucking me off,” Jaime whispered.

“I have more practice with a wider variety of men than your sister.”

“I’ll have to remember that next time I want it.”  

Jaime smirked and sunk down to the ground, and his mouth was hot and wet around him.  Arthur wove a hand through Jaime’s hair, holding his head in place.  With the other, he reached for gun on his bed stand.


	5. Taena

Blood was blood; it was always the same: red and runny, pooling beneath a head or trickling down an arm, clotting or crusting or staining a carpet in great big splotches. You could divine some kind of image in those spots – a continent or a heart, maybe even Jesus’ fucking face – but it was best not to stare too long. Taena had discovered this the hard way after her first kill, when those crimson rivers were still there when she closed her eyes at night. She never knew who it was that was haunting her beneath her eyelids: whose blood was whose? Whose face was she seeing in those pools? It was the same, it always looked the same.

It was that way now, in the squalid warehouse outside of London, as she stared upon the two pale bodies on the floor. So identical, even in death. Two corpses destroyed and so patriotic, too, painted so proudly in their family’s colors. _But can you roar now, you golden fools?_ Surely not.

Getting them there had not been so difficult this time, as transporting bodies had been in the past. Taena and Arthur had developed a system, had planned it all out in the months between Lyanna’s murder and the twins’. Knife (for Taena), gun (for Arthur), two body bags, two getaway cars – a simple and fool-proof plot, really. The only weak link in their chain was Arthur himself, Taena had mused, what with his decade-long attraction to the Lannister boy. ( _Can I trust him? Will he crack and not pull the trigger?_ These were the questions she had asked herself late at night, when she refused to close her eyes in hopes of avoiding the usual visions of blood.) Arthur was a man, after all, and men thought with their dicks. However, Taena had not worried about herself. The Lannister girl was beautiful, that was true, but she’d not thought she’d feel something for her. _No, never._    

Taena _had_ , though, and so it was the killing that proved the most troubling tonight. Despite the fact that it was over and all was silent, Taena’s skin still crawled in disgust at the memory of Cersei tied so helplessly in that chair. It was sad, almost, knowing that Taena had made love to the girl – no, what was she saying, she’d fucked the girl; _fucked_ – and here she was now, dead and gone. _Stop it, Taena,_ she had mentally reproached, _She is nothing to you._

Taena had an aversion to screams. She hated the way they made her feel and summoned hundreds of goosebumps up and down her arms, little dots of fear. They reminded her of her childhood – of belts and razor blades, of thrown china and big fists – and it made her crave the drugs even more. Stick a needle in or snort a line and the discomfort would go away; she’d learned that remedy long ago.

Cersei had screamed – God, had she screamed – and her emerald eyes had begged so desperately for mercy as the knife drew its line across her neck. Taena had rubbed some coke along her gums before she’d begun, knowing what was ahead, and so the dash of red reminded her of a state line or territory: _You are no man, Cersei Lannister, You are_ mine _._  

The slicing always came so easy before, the way it broke the skin and left its mark in mere seconds, forever. But Cersei’s silent plea had made Taena pause as the blade dragged along her fair skin. _Please, please,_ Cersei seemed to say, her face speaking subtly of a great betrayal: _How could you do this to me, Merryweather?_

And yet: there was recognition there, too, a remorse and admonition of her own blind stupidity, _Of course this happened. I saw this coming. We’ve all been trained to kill our enemies._ This was a game after all; there was no room for two victors. Cersei had known this more than anyone else.

Taena had thought it merciful enough that she’d killed her so quickly. She hadn’t even given Cersei enough time to curse or hit back, and surely the final remains of the heroin had dulled her pain at least a little. _Such generosity_ , Taena had thought (though, in truth, she was more _grateful_ than anything for Cersei’s lingering high – the screams weren’t so piercing as they would have been sober). Taena had half a mind to cut out Cersei’s tongue and keep it as a little souvenir. It’d felt good to have a whore licking her cunt again, and it was a shame that their fun had ended so abruptly, so sorely; Arthur and Rhaegar’s talents paled in comparison. _You surprised me, Lannister._

Taena had slung Cersei’s body over her shoulder – she was light, Cersei, and seemingly so much smaller now that she’d been stilled – and went through all the motions that she and Arthur had gone over thousands of times. The main goal after the murder was to get to the car without being seen by anyone else, and that had been easy enough. She folded Cersei’s body in the back of the trunk and ordered the driver, Igor, to take off.

Taena’s accomplice did, in fact, go through with his side of the business. A quick gunshot to the head, and Arthur had accomplished his task in a split second - just like Rhaegar had with Lyanna back in March. It was disappointing, really, how quickly death came for their foes. Taena and Arthur both had assumed there’d be resistance and retaliation, that killing a lion would take more than a mere cut or shot. But no, they were dead, _just like that_. So anticlimactic and final.

“Didn’t suspect a thing, the idiot,” Arthur said as they observed their victims from up above, “Can’t say I’m not upset about it, though. Knew how to suck a cock, that one. A fiend.”

 _And she was fire,_ Taena almost said, but she stayed quiet and went through the dead twins’ belongings. Wallets, fake I.D.’s, two bags of coke, a total of six cell phones. Nothing quite out of the ordinary for two professional drugs dealers. Taena didn’t know what she was looking for – or what she _hoped_ she would find in Cersei’s bag, in particular – but she felt dissatisfied all the same. The feelings of Cersei’s lips against hers still lingered, and it brought those damn goosebumps back. Perhaps she needed something to restore the hatred she’d once had for Cersei, something to erase this foreign sadness that was bubbling in her gut.  

As they had fucked, Taena hadn’t understood how someone like Cersei Lannister could fall in love with the likes of the innocent and wintry Lyanna Stark. Cersei needed someone like Taena to fan those flames, not quench them, to make them grow and burn and _possess_ .But maybe that was why she and Taena had always stood on separate sides of the battlefield. Perhaps their coming together could only lead to an inevitable destruction – to betrayal and blood, blood, and more blood. Didn’t tonight’s events prove that?

“Well, that’s that,” Arthur whispered, and his hand reached out to touch her ass. The way it rested against her behind seemed so unnatural, as though he’d forgotten how to be affectionate with a woman since fucking Jaime Lannister earlier in the evening. It was hilarious how predictable men could be, Taena thought. They _knew_ Jaime would go after Arthur to protect his sister, just as Taena had known Arthur would enjoy his tryst with Lannister a little more than he should. (Never mind the fact that she was still thinking of Cersei: _Taste me. Am I too much for you, Merryweather?_ That was not important.)

Taena allowed herself a small, triumphant smile, “Rhaegar will be pleased.” _Where is he, anyways?_ she asked herself. It was unlike him to not come sniffing after the scent of his dead prey – especially when the prey was a pair of identical Lannisters. _He’s supposed to be here. He’s supposed to tell us what to do next._ Her brow creased in suspicion and worry at the silver-haired man’s absence.

In truth, Taena and Arthur had no idea what lay beyond tonight, what the third step in their act of domination would be. Following Lyanna’s death, Rhaegar had told them he knew the Lannister twins would exact their revenge in the near future. That would be their chance, their second mission: to kill them and therefore, destroy the heart of the entire Lannister cartel. Without the golden duo, the age-old family would have almost nothing. Tywin was growing older and older by the day, Tyrion was still wherever the fuck he was, and Lyanna had given Taena all of their information. They were as good as done.

“Whether Cersei liked the bitch is beside the point,” Rhaegar had admonished when Arthur had questioned his theory, “We took down one of their men. A Lannister always pays his debts. They’ll come for us once they know we were behind Lyanna’s death, rest assured.” Rhaegar’s purple eyes had grown brighter at the prospect of the twins’ annihilation, and it had made Taena excited to know that they were so close to victory.

“We’ve gained control of everything,” Arthur said now, crouching down to examine Jaime’s face more closely. Where there was once a beautiful golden-emerald beauty, there was now a ribboned, desiccated mess. Jaime was unrecognizable now that his visage had been reduced to a bloody pulp – except for his blonde hair that still shot out like rays from his head. Cersei, on the other hand, was not quite so ruined, though she, too, was just a ghost of who she’d once been. The blood that crusted her skin, her hair, her fingernails, matched her brother’s, and it made Taena cringe. They really were perfect for each other.

“We’ve basically created a monopoly, T, it’s bloody brilliant. The Targaryens are all that’s left,” Arthur continued, standing upright once more and looking the proud father watching his son score a goal, “No one can stop us.”

 _But we are not Targaryens,_ Taena thought to herself. “Mmm,” she mumbled aloud instead, “He’ll repay us for this. He said he would.”

“With some fucking money, I hope. Need some cash so I can buy myself a pretty boy like this one.” Arthur gently kicked Jaime’s leg, and Taena found it disturbing how the dead boy barely moved. It seemed so wrong, that these lions should succumb to the fate of all humans and do nothing about it. ( _I’m the woman every dick is afraid of.)_ Jaime should have woken then, risen quickly, and punched Arthur in the face and kicked him in the groin.

Taena’s mouth fell into a disturbed scowl, and Arthur stepped closer to her, resting a hand on her shoulder. His palms felt warm against her skin, alive. For a moment, she wondered what Cersei’s must feel like – surely, they could not be frigid; surely they must have retained their heat, even in death. But she made no move to bend down and see for herself.

“Everyone must bleed, Taena,” Arthur whispered while watching her stare at the golden girl’s unmoving fingers, “ _Blood is the seal of our devotion_.” It was what Rhaegar had told them, time and time again - what Aerys had told Rhaegar, even, when he was just a young boy, watching his father clean his red-stained hands.

Taena looked at Arthur then, looked deep into those light eyes and knew that he, too, tasted the sourness of their achievement. That saying those words meant about as much as the Our Father being recited by an atheist. You could make it seem like you believed it on the outside, sure, but did you truly feel it internally? They didn’t; they both knew it. The twins were still crawling all over them, and devotion lived only in the marrow of one’s bones.

“Indeed,” a soft voice called out behind them. _Rhaegar_ , Taena knew. He was always sneaking up on people, creeping in a doorway with his feet falling against the floor without a sound. They called him The Dragon, but she fancied him more a snake, the way he slithered in and out rooms. How he could wrap himself around your neck and suffocate you to death.

“Rhaegar,” Arthur breathed, startled by the man’s entrance. He paused and pointed at their two casualties, “We did it. We killed them.” He smiled.

“That you did,” Rhaegar said, eyes glowing a stormy violet. He looked at Cersei and bent down to take a strand of her matted hair in his grasp. He rubbed his fingers against it, and they came away wet. He lifted his crimson painted fingers to his nose and inhaled, as though it were something special, sacred. _It’s just blood,_ Taena thought again, _It’s all the same._

“Her hair is shorter,” he commented quietly. He turned to admire Jaime, “Glad you blew that fucking smug smirk of his face, Arthur. Well done.”

Arthur beamed under Rhaegar’s praise, and he puffed out his chest. Taena wanted to beat the man down with an angry fist. He thought himself a man, but he was nothing more than a strutting peacock. ( _Show me how much of a man you truly are.)_

“The Lannisters are finished, the Starks weak. The Tyrells are nothing without the Lannisters…What is it that you want us to do next, _Targaryen_?” Arthur asked. He emphasized the last word, drawing it out slowly as though it were the name of a god. It was a name that evoked power, fear and now…victory.

“Tell me, friends,” Rhaegar began, “What are your names?”

“Arthur Dayne.”

“Taena Merryweather,” Taena spat when he raised his eyebrows in her direction.

“ _That_ is what I need of you.”

“Our names?” Arthur questioned, confused. Taena realized what he meant in an instant.

“ _You_. I can trust no one except my family,” Rhaegar said evenly. His hand reached inside his jacket and pulled out a gun. _And we are not Targaryens,_ Taena thought once more.

“But we bloody killed the bloody Lanni—“ Arthur began to shout, but the silver haired criminal quieted him with the faint click of his gun.

“All men must bleed,” Rhaegar said, “Blood is the seal of our devotion. You promised my family your loyalty. That you would do whatever we asked. We need this of you now, Arthur. We can afford no moles, no weak links now that we’ve accomplished what we have. You have done your part. Surely you must understand.”

“Rhaegar—“ Arthur protested a second time. He would not go down without a fight, Taena knew. He’d put on a show, and _then_ wind up dead.

“ _Hush_ , fool,” Taena hissed, dropping to her knees. She closed her eyes and bent her head downwards. She studied the floor and spotted an ant scurrying furiously towards Rhaegar’s feet, and she took her hand and smashed it.

It was true: _all men must bleed_. And _she_ , Taena Merryweather, was a man at heart.

The first gunshot went off just seconds later, and Arthur fell in a heap upon the ground. He made not a sound when the bullet lodged itself into his forehead, only a _thump_ when he hit the cement.

“I hope _you_ understand, Taena,” Rhaegar whispered, cupping her chin in his hand, “You know how it is. You’re too much of a liability.” She looked him in the eyes and thought: _this is what Lyanna saw, what Cersei saw, once._ Taena nodded, showing no fear, no remorse for what she had gotten herself into. She ran her finger across the blade she had hidden behind her back and slowly pulled it forward. She was not a Targaryen but, _yes_ , she was a man and, yes, she understood perfectly.

She lunged quickly, stabbing the shiny steel directly into Rhaegar’s heart, and watched as his mouth opened in an inaudible gasp of pain.

Retaliating, he shot her once – then twice –in the junction where her shoulder and neck met, and she fell backwards onto Cersei’s body. Rhaegar pressed against his wound with quivering hands in an attempt to stop the blood, but his face had already gone pale. _All men must bleed. It is the sign of our devotion._

In her last moments, Taena remembered when Cersei had been on top of her only hours before with her blonde head resting against her chest, listening to the soft thudding of Taena’s heart. Now, though, all was still, and Taena heard nothing beating inside of Cersei.

Taena did not love the Lannister girl, she knew that for sure. But there was _something_ there, something that made her wish she had just a few more moments to spare, and it stemmed from this one truth:

A man could care, just as a woman could. A woman could kill, just a man could. Both bled and both died. Both were flawed, stupid, did grand and foolish things for the sake of devotion and love.

 _Love._ What a strange and broad concept. _We have all known love,_ Taena thought, her breathing labored and coming stubbornly, _whether we realized it or not._ Love of drugs, love of power, love of a sibling, a lover, love of freedom. _But_ life _most of all,_ Taena thought, and, for that, they had all paid their price.

Taena’s blood seeped out of her body and onto the woman’s clothes, melding red with red.

It looked like Lyanna’s. It looked Jaime’s and Cersei’s. It looked like Arthur’s, Rhaegar’s and anyone else’s who might die today, tomorrow, and the days after that.

It was all the same, and it was devotion – _love_ – that had brought them there.


End file.
